Surprise
by springburn
Summary: Malcolm is sure there is something wrong, but he can't put a finger on what it is, then he sees something he's not meant to see...


Fic prompt form my prompt-meister... petersgal! This was a really good one, and I had an idea straight away..." Righto my freind,lets try this for a prompt...so it starts unhappy but turns happy..but how so,your way..so our malcolm sees sam do something that upsets him so much that he thinks he may lose her,but why and what?and its got to have a happy ending..:)"

Malcolm has noticed something is wrong...but he can't put his finger on what it is...then he sees something he wasn't meant to see...

SURPRISE!

Something was wrong.  
Malcolm didn't know what it was. But it was definitely something.  
Sam had been distracted lately.  
Occupied.  
He'd asked her about it. She denied all knowledge.  
Said she was fine. Everything was fine.  
He'd often worried that she'd given up too much to be married to him.  
Her career. Bogged down with kids stuff. Didn't have much time for herself.  
Which was why he liked working from home.  
It meant he could do the school run sometimes, do chores, take the weight off so she could have a break from it all, away from the demands of three small children...  
And him.  
In a way she was his carer too, and he was so fucking needy sometimes.  
He knew it.  
He couldn't help it.  
Sam was his everything, the love he felt for her was immeasurable.  
All she'd done for him, the way she'd supported him, always been there, through thick and thin.  
He loved the closeness they shared too.  
Malcolm was a demonstrative man, and nothing came close to his intimacy with his wife.  
Nothing.  
He worshipped her, mind, body and soul.  
"Shall we have lunch out today?"  
He reached for her hand across the kitchen counter...she looked up,  
"I can't Malcolm, I'm meeting Ellie in town."  
"Oh. Okay. Maybe tomorrow then?"  
"Well, wee Jamie's doing the swimming gala, and Robbie is going to a birthday party, so I've got to get a present and a card...sorry!"  
Malcolm sighed.  
"Never mind." He said.

oOo

Sam grabbed her handbag, her hair was up, pretty, she was ready to go.  
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, but he tugged her wrist, pulled her to him, as he loved to do, to kiss her tenderly.  
She squirmed...  
"Malcolm, stop! I haven't time for this...I'll be late!"  
"Never stopped you before." He frowned.  
She wriggled free.  
"Gotta go. Love you. Bye."  
And she was out the door.  
At his desk Malcolm spent an hour writing.  
His third book. After the success of the second, his first fiction piece, the public wanted more.  
Apparently.  
After a while he leaned back in the chair, flexed his neck, yawned.  
He fancied a proper coffee and a muffin, and a walk to stretch his legs.  
Grabbing his keys and jacket, he left the house, heading for the shopping precinct.  
He'd just rounded the corner by the bookshop, when his attention was taken by the outside chairs and tables of the little Italian Restaurant, across the way.  
Sam was sitting there.  
He was just about to call out to her, when a man approached her table.  
He was about Sam's age, Malcolm guessed. Tall. Well dressed.  
He froze to the spot as he watched.  
She stood. The two embraced. Kissed on each cheek, his hand on her back as they went inside.  
Laughing, chatting easily.  
Seating themselves in the window.  
Malcolm swallowed. He staggered slightly. Leaning heavily against the wall.  
She lied.  
She wasn't meeting Ellie.  
One hundred thoughts flashed through Malcolm Tucker's mind. His heart was racing.  
The blood in his veins ran cold.  
Who was this man? If it was something innocuous, why had she lied?  
He turned on his heel and stumbled home.  
Malcolm did not see the man leave after twenty minutes, and Ellie arrive some moments later.

oOo

Reaching home, Malcolm's breath was coming in short pants, he felt sick.  
Most of all he felt terrified.  
Many times when they'd first met, he'd asked himself what she saw in him.  
Older than her, shouty, sweary, workaholic, a mass of contradictions...where was the attraction?  
But she was devoted to him, and their children, he'd been sure of it.  
No, it must be something innocent.  
He wouldn't mention it, he'd wait and see if she did.  
If Sam noticed that her husband was withdrawn and quiet when she reached home, she refrained from comment.  
He was under a great deal of pressure from his publishers, she knew, he was probably stressed.  
"How was Ellie?" He asked her.  
"Oh, fine!" Sam replied. "Jess starts nursery soon, she's really excited apparently."  
"Why don't you ring Jamie?" She continued, brightly, "You two go out for a catch up, you've not seen each other lately."  
"Are you trying to get rid of me?" He asked.  
"Of course not! I just thought you'd like it that's all."  
"Maybe I will." He said, reaching for his mobile.  
Moments later the meeting was arranged.  
"What are you going to do?" He inquired casually.  
"Nothing! I'm going to put my feet up, watch TV and relax."  
Malcolm huffed, and went off for a shower.  
Turning on the spray, he realised he'd forgotten to find clean underwear, everything was downstairs in the laundry basket, fresh out of the tumble dryer.  
"Dammit!"  
Leaving the shower running, he padded down to the utility room.  
Sam's hushed tones were speaking to someone on the phone, in the living room.  
At the bottom of the stairs he paused.  
Listened.  
"Yeah, should be okay, I've persuaded him to go out with Jamie for a couple of hours. No it's okay, he's in the shower...yeah, okay, see you in an hour. Love you. Bye."  
So it was real then.  
There could be no mistaking, surely.  
His wife.  
The person he loved, unconditionally, completely, she was going behind his back.  
It was a pale, stern, set face, that kissed her goodbye as he left the house.  
Into the car, he drove around the corner.  
Pulled over.  
Sat. Staring into space.  
Malcolm Tucker's whole world was falling down around his ears.  
What should he do?  
Tackle her?  
How long had it been going on?  
Thoughts of his first wife, his divorce. The rows. The slanging matches. The hate. The vitriol.  
His stomach was in knots. Mouth dry.  
Should he tell Jamie?  
Oh God! Was this really happening?  
And what about the children...his boys...Grace...?  
He was shaking, all over.  
A mess.  
Too numb to cry.  
Sheer, utter disbelief.

oOo

"What's wrong with you tonight Malcolm, you're like the fucking corpse at a funeral."  
Malcolm snapped back into the room, his thoughts a million miles away.  
"Eh? Sorry, just shagged out I guess."  
"Well, you're fucking shit company."  
"Sorry! Tell me Jamie, did Ellie meet Sam today, do you know?"  
"Yeah. Think so, lunch, in that Italian place in the precinct. Why?"  
"Oh, no reason. Just wondered."  
"Malcolm. For fucks sake, go home. Shag your wife. Then get some sleep. You fucking boring cunt."

Sam was asleep on the sofa, TV playing to itself.  
He sat down at her side. She roused.  
"Hiya. You're back!"  
"Sam?"  
"What is it?" She regarded him quizzically, "You and Jamie had a spat?"  
"No...give us a hug, yeah?"  
She held her arms wide, and he laid his head against her breast. He could feel her fingers scratching his scalp gently.  
He gave a juddering sigh.  
"Are you alright, Malcolm?"  
"Love you Sam...yeah...always, you know that right?"  
He was barely holding it together.  
"Of course I know it. What's got into you?"  
"Nothing. Let's go to bed, yeah?"

oOo

For the next few days Malcolm was on tenterhooks.  
He couldn't write. He could barely bring himself to eat.  
He would break into sweats, hot and cold. Experiencing rising panic attacks.  
It was not helped by the knowledge that on more that one occasion, he caught Sam mid phone call, and she'd hurriedly hung up when he'd entered the room.  
Then she'd made some lame excuse to go out, when the boys were at school.  
He was looking after their daughter.  
As soon as she left, he'd bundled Grace into her car seat, and gone after her.  
It was the park this time.  
Same man.  
They'd hugged. Sat side by side on a bench, talking intimately.  
Grace had been busy collecting leaves.  
"These are for you Daddy, look at all the colours!"  
Her little hands held them out to him.  
Suddenly he seized her, burying his face in the wool of her coat.  
Stifled a sob.  
"Daddy, don't you like them?"  
"Sorry, sweetheart." He sniffed. "Course I do. Let's take them home, yeah? Show them to mummy."  
His voice almost gave out.

oOo

"Don't forget it's Glenn's retirement bash this Saturday." Sam was busy in the kitchen.  
"Not going."  
She turned to look at him, eyebrows raised.  
"We've already accepted Malcolm, we have to go."  
He slid off the stool. Looked at her, pain and hurt written across his face.  
"Told you. Not fucking going."  
"Right! Malcolm. I've had enough of this. WE are going. You and me. Glenn's arranged it all. It's for his retirement. He's your friend. OUR friend. And you ARE going."  
"I'm not in a party mood."  
"Strikes me you're not in any kind of mood...what's wrong with you?"  
"I don't know, Sam, can you think of anything that would be wrong with me?"  
"No! Look, I know you're not much of a party person, but you'll enjoy it when you get there. I love dressing up and being out somewhere posh, with you, once in a while."  
"Why are you pretending? It's all pretend."  
"I don't know what you're talking about. But you're going. Because if you don't I'll ..."  
"If I don't you'll what?...what will you do Sam? Punish me...leave me...what? What will you do?"  
His voice was raised, raspy, he was angry, upset, she'd not seen him like this since after the Goolding Enquiry.  
"Malcolm...please...don't do this. Please come. For me."  
He laughed then, despite himself.  
"For you? And there's nothing I wouldn't do for you, is there? You know that!"  
Sam was upset, tears started to come.  
"I don't know what's wrong with you Malcolm, you've been like this in the last weeks. I know you're under pressure over the book, and you're a bit stressed, but what's happened to you? Why are you being cruel? You're never cruel, not to me..."  
Seeing her cry, broke her husband's heart.  
He couldn't bear it. He couldn't live like this.  
He was more petrified than at any other time in his entire life.  
But he couldn't bring himself to say anything. The mere thought of voicing his fears, that would make it real. He couldn't confront her. He was too afraid.  
So he caved in.  
"Okay, I'll fucking go. Now leave me alone." He stumped off to his study.  
Moments later he overheard Sam on the phone again. She was in tears.  
"I can't keep this up. It's horrible. Deceiving him. He knows something's up. What shall I do?  
Yeah...yeah...I will. Thank goodness it's nearly the weekend. Then he'll know. It'll be over. Yeah...okay...Love you too. Bye."  
Malcolm put his head in his hands and wept.

oOo

Saturday came. The day of the 'do'.  
"FUCKING FUCKING HELL!"  
His third attempt to tie his dickie bow, defeated him.  
Sam hushed him, pushed his fingers away. Tied the tie for him.  
She noticed his hands were trembling.  
"Malcolm. Calm. It's fine. There you go."  
"Sam. I want to get this evening over, yeah? Then I want to go away for a few days."  
His wife stepped back, her hands resting on each of his shoulders.  
"Okay...where shall we go?"  
"No. Not us. Just me. I need a couple of days. I just need to get away."  
Sam's face changed. She eyed him suspiciously.  
"Oh, no you don't! You're not running away...Right...Malcolm...We get this evening over, then you and I need to talk...okay? You're not going anywhere."  
He stepped away from her, turned, so that she couldn't see his face.  
Honk...Honk.  
"Cab's here. We've got to go. You ready?"  
"I guess."  
"You look really handsome. I love you in your tux."  
She brushed an imaginary spot from his lapel.  
Looked at him. His face was desolate.

oOo

"This isn't the way to Whitehall. Hi...cabbie, you're going the wrong way!"  
"Detour." The taxi driver replied, with a wink.  
Malcolm could feel the agitation rising within him.  
Sam sat beside him her hand over his, serene, beautiful.  
Her full length gown, emerald green, hair swept up, make up just so.  
His palms were sweating...he was sweating, yet he was cold.  
Forehead clammy, he was deathly pale. Nauseous.  
Shaking from head to foot. Breathing erratic.  
A full blown panic attack.  
"Stop the car!" He cried, suddenly, reaching for the door handle.  
The cabbie pulled over.  
Sam turned to him, her face full of concern.  
"Malcolm...breathe...breathe. What's got into you?"  
"I can't do it, Sam. I can't. I can't pretend like nothing's wrong. I can't, I just can't!"  
He buried his head in her side.  
"Malcolm. Nothing is wrong. We're nearly there. Just a few more minutes."  
She motioned to the driver, who pulled away again, and continued their journey.  
Moments later they pulled up outside The Dorchester.  
"What's going on?"  
Sam stepped out of the car, and he followed her, flash bulbs were going off, a press core was camped at the entrance foyer.  
"Change of venue." Sam said, with a barely concealed smile.  
She held her husband's hand tight, as they made their way through the throng, into the main function room.  
Picking their way around the dozens of circular tables, he could see, ahead of him, familiar faces.  
His sister, and her husband, Sam's brother Paul and sister in law. Jamie McDonald and Ellie. Glenn Cullen, his agent, his publisher, numerous other close friends and colleagues, and the tall man he'd seen Sam with...  
As they drew closer, everyone stood up, started applauding, whooping...  
Malcolm was shocked and bewildered...  
The display, at the front, over the stage read...

AUTHOR'S CLUB LITERARY AWARDS.

He looked down at Sam, who was smiling, her eyes full of tears...  
"Surprise!" She whispered, leaning into him.  
People were hugging him, clapping him on the back, taking his free hand and shaking it vigorously.  
He acknowledged them all, trying to smile, trying to steel himself, he managed it for a few moments, then, put his mouth close to his wife's ear...  
"Sam...I need a few moments...right now! Please? Help me."  
She gauged the situation, he was close to collapse, she could see it, immediately she turned to the assembled throng.  
"Just give us a minute...we'll be back."  
Catching the waiter's eye, she spoke briefly to him and he gestured them to follow.  
Firmly taking Malcolm by the arm, she piloted him across the floor, through a side door, and into a back foyer.  
Malcolm was stumbling now, unable to control himself, his breathing was so irregular and rapid that Sam was worried he'd pass out.  
He slumped against the wall. Blowing out his cheeks.  
Bent over, hands on his knees, head down.  
Trembling uncontrollably, tears coursing down his face, falling apart right in front of her.  
"Malcolm...God...what is it? Are you ill? Tell me. Jesus! Malcolm, tell me...what's the matter?"  
Her hand was on his back, rubbing gentle circles, then she moved in front of him, taking him into her embrace, holding him tight.  
"Fuck. Sam. Fuck. Oh, God! Shit...I can't, I can't...! This is what it's all been about? These last weeks?" He puffed, face grey, pallid, lips blue.  
"Yes! Of course! I had to keep it secret. I couldn't let on. Trying to get everyone together, making arrangements, meeting the literary people...it's been so hard."  
He raised his head, looked at her...all the mixture of anguish, pain, love washing across his face.  
"That tall guy? Who's he?"  
"He's the director of the Author's Club...I had to meet...oh, my God...you didn't think?...oh my God...Malcolm...you silly sod! Seriously? How could you even thi? ...oh, Jesus Christ! "  
It was her turn to weep.  
Holding his face in her hands, smothering him with kisses, pulling him to her, clasping him tight.  
"I thought you knew something was up...but not that! Oh Malcolm, so you've been silently torturing yourself? All this time? You never said a word...oh Malcolm, you're SUCH an idiot."  
"I saw you both, that day, in the precinct...I saw you by accident, then the phone calls, shutting up when I walked in...I heard you say 'I love you' and I just..."  
"I was talking to Paul...I'm so sorry Malcolm...my dear dear man. I'm so so sorry. I swear, I'll never put you through that again...ever! No more surprises...I'll just tell you in future...I promise...oh God, I'm so so sorry. Lord above, what you must have been through! Please, please, forgive me."  
He held on to her as though his life depended on it. Head against her, her hand on the back of his neck. Still blowing out breaths like a steam train.  
"I thought I was losing you Sam. I've been so frightened. So frightened."

oOo

It took a supreme effort of will, for Malcolm Tucker to pull himself together.  
Go back out there.  
Accept the good wishes of all the people he cared about most in the world. Who'd gathered to share his big moment.  
His book won the Author's Club First Novel Award.  
He went up to accept it.  
The only face he focussed on was Sam's.  
Her eyes glistening, smiling up at him.  
He was so emotional, he could really only say a cursory 'thank you' and that he was honoured.  
And he was.

The following day, the Tucker's were in Southwold, by the seaside. On a whim.  
Just for a couple of days...'family time'.  
Nursery and Pre-School be damned...Malcolm wanted his boys, his daughter...and most of all his wife.  
HIS wife.  
It was all he ever wanted.


End file.
